


Summer in the City

by nirejseki



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:17:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8873674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: Barry Allen is a good CSI, but this whole stupid Heatwave serial killer thing is just killing him.
Or, you know, people around him.
Luckily for him, he's always got Mick to complain to...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: A Flashwave serial killer/arsonist au, Mick is a serial killer/arsonist who develops a crush on CSI Barry Allen

“Allen,” Singh says, looming at the door to the CCPD.

“I'm sorry I'm late!” Barry says quickly. “It's just, I missed the bus - and then there was traffic, which, yes, you could probably guess, it being rush hour and all that, but wow, it gets really bad if I leave a half hour later, who knew? Uh, probably me, since it’s happened before, but this time –”

“Allen,” Singh says again.

He doesn't sound angry. He sounds worried.

“...sir?”

“There was another fire. Another fatality.”

“Oh,” Barry says, frowning. “The Heatwave struck again? That's, uh, quicker than we've normally seen from him.”

“Yeah,” Singh says. “Allen...”

“Yeah?” Barry says, brain already ticking along, trying to figure out why their local serial killer was suddenly engaged a flurry of activity. Sure, he hadn’t figured it out in the last month, but maybe if he _really_ thought about it he could come up with something that would help him keep his job, punctuality issues aside. “I'll grab my stuff and be ready to go in a minute, sir. Where was the body found?”

“Upstairs.”

“Up...stairs?” Barry repeated, not entirely understanding.

Singh sighs. “Just - come with me.”

Barry follows him up the stairs to the CSI lab. 

“That's my desk,” he says blankly at the scene of scurrying CSIs and crime scene tape. “Why is there a dead body on my desk?”

“Allen,” Singh says, putting a hand on Barry's shoulder. “The last three bodies, where they were found - can you think about if you'd ever been to any of those places before?”

“Well, yeah,” Barry says, puzzled. “The first body in the most recent, uh, wave, was found outside of Jitters, and everyone at the precinct goes there. Uh, the second one was at the park and, I mean, I go running there sometimes. And the last one wasn't too far from the west side high school. I went there, it's not far from Joe's house. But it's not like the killings are related to _me_.”

“We're not so sure about that,” Singh says, and Joe appears behind him, his face dark and stormy. “Do you mind coming to answer a few questions?”

“Uh, sure,” Barry says, then hesitates. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“It's just some basic questions for now,” Joe says. “But we'll let you know if you do need one.”

“Okay,” Barry says helplessly. Even Julian's looking sympathetic to Barry's plight, and he _hates_ Barry. 

It doesn't take long for Barry to figure out that they don't actually think that he's responsible for the deaths, which makes sense since he has a cast-iron alibi for at least two of the deaths, being at work surrounded by a bunch of officers and co-workers, and also because they've determined that this Heatwave is probably a big guy. Barry's height is right, sure, but he doesn't have the arm strength to pull off some of these attacks.

Don't ask how they know about the arm strength. It was an ugly, ugly analysis.

It takes a little longer for Barry to figure out what they _do_ think might be the case.

“Wait,” he says. “You think he's, what? Got a crush on me or something?”

“We're not ruling out the possibility,” Joe says. “Sorry, Bear. We have to look at every possibility.”

“I mean, I know serial killers sometimes get weirdly obsessed with people,” Barry says. “But - _me_? Why _me_?”

“It was your desk that the body was left on,” Singh points out.

“That's not enough reason,” Barry objects. “Most serial killers are straight. Why do you think he's not?”

Joe and Singh exchange glances.

“You think you have a lead on this guy!” Barry exclaims.

“Maybe,” Joe temporizes. “We don't have anything right now.”

Barry crosses his arms. “Then tell me the nothing you've got,” he says. “This is my case, damnit. I'm not going to stop working just because someone dumped a burned up body on my desk, okay? It could have been meant for the department as a warning.”

Joe and Singh look at each other again.

“What?” Barry asks.

“Julian ID'd the body just before you arrived,” Singh says. “Name of Anthony Woodward.”

Barry has to think a few minutes before the name registers, but then he blanches. “Wait, Tony? That was Tony?”

He hadn’t thought about Tony in years. Well, no, that’s not quite true, he was bitching just the other day about how high school age trauma can last for a lifetime, but he hadn’t thought of him as a person who was still _existing_ for years. 

“I explained that you'd known him in high school,” Joe says. “That's when we got worried. Mostly about _where_ you were…”

“I'm telling you, I was just late for the bus. It's me, guys. You know that it happens.”

“Still,” Singh says. “Given the potential –”

“Captain, _please_! This is my case! We don’t have anywhere near enough information to justify pulling me out!”

“If we find anything else –” Joe starts.

“Then I’m out, no arguments,” Barry promises. “Cross my heart.”

"I'm not taking you off the case yet," Singh decides. "Tony Woodward had a rap sheet, like a lot of Heatwave's victims. It could be a coincidence. But Barry - be careful, okay? If Heatwave's got his eye on you, you could be in serious danger."

"I will," Barry promises, and they let him go back upstairs, still shaken.

His desk is still a crime scene, of course, and Julian intercepts him with a pile of files that need extra time in the lab and a threat that Barry shouldn't use this as an excuse to slack off, which even Barry can understand is a classically Julian-the-asshole expression of sympathy. 

It's a relief to come out of the lab five hours later and find his desk back to its usual disordered mess. Cleaner than usual, honestly; his crime lab colleagues seem to have investigated (and cleaned) some of the splotches left behind from Barry's visits to the curry place down the road. 

"Do you know who they're suspecting Heatwave is?" he asks Julian.

"No," Julian says. "And even if I did, you can't seriously still be on that case."

"It could've been a coincidence," Barry shoots back. "And until I hear otherwise, it's still my case. Hands off."

"Says the guy who's always sticking his nose into my meta cases!"

"Yeah, well, I don't try to actually _steal_ them," Barry says. "...anymore."

Julian rolls his eyes. 

Mutual hatred firmly re-established, they nod cordially and head back to their respective desks.

"Allen," Julian says after a while. "Are you sure about the speed of burning on this report?"

"Yeah," Barry says. "And don't tell me it's impossible; I know. He looks like he was fried in an industrial strength smelter."

"And we've got all of those under watch," Julian groans. Barry feels the slightest - slightest! - hint of sympathy. The Heatwave case has been kicking everybody's ass.

"Still no evidence Heatwave's a meta?" he asks Julian.

"If anything, that's the only thing I'm pretty sure he's _not_ ," Julian says grimly. "Meta attacks tend to be frighteningly consistent. A meta will meta, to borrow a quote from that execrable Ramon fellow. These deaths are too - varied."

"Always fire, but the speed, degree of heat, starting place, completeness is different almost every time," Barry agrees with a sigh. "It's like a kid with a toy, trying out every setting."

They both pause and stare at each other.

"You don't think..." Julian starts.

"New technology patents are publically available," Barry says, sitting up straight. "You can apply for a confidentiality order -"

"But a court order should take care of that," Julian agrees, visibly excited. "There's plenty of potential sources that wouldn't want to report the theft of a prototype - Mercury Labs, STAR Labs -"

"Palmer Tech," Barry says. "Queen Consolidated. Wayne Industries, Luthor Corp -"

"And even if they haven't applied for a patent yet, there have to be preliminary plans in their computers."

"We should get an order for all of the local ones, simultaneous dawn raids. We don't want to give anyone a chance to spoil our evidence."

"Allen, every once in a while, I understand why they haven't fired you yet," Julian says sincerely. 

Barry rolls his eyes, but grins. "Let's get this bastard."

"Agreed!"

\---

Barry's late going home, but that's not unusual recently. The Heatwave case is a real time-suck. Singh and Joe had been very excited by the possibilities of the new direction; a word had been put in to a sympathetic judge, and the raids were planned for tomorrow. 

Which meant it was vital that everyone pretend that nothing is going to happen.

At least going home late means that it's a _little_ cooler. The Heatwave moniker had been coined more for the fact that all the recent murders were taking place during the worst period of summer heat Central City's seen in a hundred years, though, so it's not actually that _much_ cooler.

But there was one consolation to arriving home late - that meant it's finally Mick's shift.

Barry grins at the thought, grabbing his landline and toeing off his shoes before flopping onto his couch. He dials the number to his favorite pizza place.

"Andrelli's Pizza," the familiar voice growls.

"Hey, Mick," Barry says with a grin. "An order of my usual?"

"Anything for my favorite customer," Mick replies, irritation disappearing. "How's it going, my persnickety friend? Do you want to know the origins of the vegetables which will be gracing your tender palate today?"

It's even funnier in Mick's gruff Keystone accent. 

"One day you'll let me forget how we met," Barry laughs. He'd been in a bad mood that day - the second Heatwave killing had kept him in the office overnight and late the next day, and that had been before Julian had dropped the meta theory so he'd been driving Barry crazy - so when the pizza he'd ordered had shown up with a splash of watery tomato sauce and the saddest looking peppers Barry'd ever seen in his life, he'd dialed them back and yelled at the first guy who'd picked up the phone about the importance of fresh fruit and vegetables to a diet.

That guy had been Mick, which Barry guesses must be the night manager or something, because he's only available at night, but he has a great sense of humor and a deep voice that makes Barry's toes curl pleasantly.

He's never actually _met_ Mick, of course - he doesn't want to ruin the pleasant illusion he's built up in his head about him by finding out he's actually an acne-ridden adolescent with an excellent set of pipes - but he likes the few minutes of banter they get in every night when he orders dinner. Especially since it's been getting longer and longer every night. 

Besides, the quality of the pizzas have shot up. Mick said he's put the fear of god into the cooks.

"Never," Mick says. "You know how hard it is to find someone who actually cares about the freshness of the food they're shoveling into their mouths nowadays?"

"Oh, I've got some idea," Barry replies, laughing and snuggling in. "So, food sources: regale me."

"Well, we've got tomatoes from a farm down by -" Mick goes on at some length, quickly abandoning reality to inform Barry that the grain his dinner's being prepared from was ground on the moon by little elves, so it's a bit light as a result.

"Oh, well, gravity, what can you do?" Barry jokes. "Can't live with it, definitely can't live without it."

"Absolutely," Mick replies, his voice deep and warm. "Oh, and I threw in a present for you with your pizza, by the way. Let me know what you think of it."

"Not another dessert!" Barry exclaims, laughing. "You're trying to fatten me up, I know it."

"You'll like this one," Mick says confidently. 

"I'm sure I will," Barry says, and wishes Mick goodbye before hanging up. He'd love to chat longer, but he doesn't want to keep the line busy. Who knows who else might be ordering pizza at 10pm? 

The dessert is crème brûlée. At first, Barry is a little put off by the burnt sugar crust - it brings to mind what he found on his desk this morning - but he reminds himself that Mick is expecting a review, and at any rate he couldn't have known. 

Besides, it was Tony Woodward. Barry _hated_ Tony Woodward. Had hated, he guessed.

Barry feels bad about thinking it almost immediately, but, well, the absolutely delicious crème brûlée makes him feel better.

He calls Mick up to let him know.

"I'm glad to hear that you like my gifts," Mick says with a laugh. "I think about you when I make 'em."

"You made that?" Barry exclaims. "Wow! You're really good, Mick. Why are you still working at a delivery pizza place?"

"It's the people I meet that keep me interested," Mick replies.

Barry grins. "Nice, Mick, very nice. You come up with that line yourself?"

Mick guffaws. "Nah," he says eventually. "Heard my partner use it once and liked it."

"Your partner?"

"Work partner," Mick clarifies, and Barry's shoulders relax. No need to ruin the fantasy yet, it seemed. "You'd like him, I think." 

"Well, whatever part he plays in my pizza, I appreciate it entirely," Barry replies, shaking his head.

"Oh, he does the books," Mick says. "He's more the big picture guy than I am."

Images of a weedy glasses-wearing nerd - a bit like Barry, really, but shorter, with bad eyes, and possibly losing his hair prematurely - immediately spring up, making Barry bit his lip to keep from laughing. But on the other hand, the chances of Mick - who's apparently part-owner or something - being a big, muscular, gorgeous guy just went up. Barry mentally cheers.

"Well, one day," Barry says, not necessarily meaning it.

"I'm sure," Mick says. "Now get to sleep already, I can hear you yawning."

Barry laughs and hangs up.

Maybe it's a little sad that his closest relationship right now is with the pizza delivery dispatch manager - not even the pizza delivery guy, who he sees in person - but what can Barry do about it? His job hasn't left that much time for socializing recently

And it wasn't like he hadn't help bring his current isolation on his own head, Barry thinks ruefully. He should've known better than to try to confess his love to Iris after she'd fallen head over heels for Eddie. He certainly should've known better than to do it twice.

Now she was - rightfully - not talking to him for a while, at least until he got over himself and was able to deal with her on the level she preferred. Joe was sympathetic, of course; he'd always supported Barry's crush, but Iris wasn't exactly too pleased at him, either. Between Joe's harassment (her words) of her boyfriend, his creepy desire to maintain some semblance of their childhood (also her words) by urging her and Barry together, and the recent revelations about her mother (there were no words), Joe was even more on Iris' shitlist than Barry was.

At least Barry had the comfort that eventually he'd be able to speak with her again. She was reserving judgment on Joe. 

Eddie gave them occasional updates on her, though. He was thinking of proposing.

Barry was - surprisingly okay with that. Having it shoved into his face how much he'd been putting Iris into a predetermined box and expecting her to return his affections despite the total lack of any signals that she’s willing to dump Eddie for him, no matter if maybe she does have some feelings for him, and to do it to Iris, too, because he really does love her even aside from his crush, was surprisingly good at helping him clear out his feelings. Unrequited love sucks, but he’s finally gotten it through his head that it's _his_ problem, not hers, and he's been working on moving on.

He still sometimes daydreams about growing up and getting married to her, though, so he's keeping his distance until he can manage to be the friend she deserves. Daydreaming about Mick is definitely helping the process along.

Now if only he could figure out this Heatwave thing...


	2. Chapter 2

"I think the waiting is the worst part," Barry grumbles. 

"Patience is a virtue," Julian snipes back, as if he wasn't also glancing at the door every five minutes to see if there was any news.

"Even if they find anything, it'll still take a lot of work before we can get a real lead out of it," Barry points out.

"I'm _well aware_ of that, thank you." 

Five minutes later, they're both watching the door again.

"Are they late?"

"They didn't have a _curfew_ to meet, Allen," Julian says.

Another few minutes.

"Besides, it's the middle of the afternoon," Julian says, eyes glued to the door. "They'd hit at least twenty-three minutes of extra traffic."

"That's awfully precise," Barry says, adding the figure to the calculations of timing he's been surreptitiously doodling. "You taking after Snart?"

"Don't insult me by comparing me to that _mobster_ ," Julian snaps. 

"He really holds himself out as more of a high-end thief -"

"He _organized_ the _criminal_ metahuman element of Central City - not that we have much else, after the stigma people started associating with metas after the unfortunate business at the beginning with the accelerator –"

" _Please_ spare me your lecture about how one good meta example, early on enough, could have had earth-shattering effects on people's perception of the rest of them. I’ve heard it a million times already."

"- _regardless_ of that point, which I maintain is valid, Snart organizes criminals. Organized crime. Ergo, he's a mobster, whatever pseudo-beneficent Robin Hood figure he tries to paint himself as."

"I wouldn't say Robin Hood," Barry objects. "He doesn't, like, give from the rich to the poor. He mostly steals from the rich, yes, but no one would say -"

"Good lord, you're fond of him as well," Julian exclaims. "Is it some sort communal disease in Central City, that everyone seems to find something admirable in that execrable piece of scum?"

"He has a set of rules that he abides by, and makes everyone else abide by, too," Barry argues. "Everyone knows the Rogues' Rules. Even the Families have started following them to avoid pissing him off. Drug use in the under sixteen age group has tanked by -"

"Spare me the statistics. He's still a criminal, and we _will_ put him behind bars if we can."

"Of course we will. It's just the 'if we can' bit that's difficult," Barry says gloomily.

"With that metahuman army of his, to be sure," Julian sighs. The impossibility of stopping Snart for any given length of time was one of the few things Julian and Barry agreed on. And the fact that the guy was - as far as they could determine - totally human just made it all the more maddening.

He'd even swung by the CCPD crime lab one time to let them take a sample to prove it, smirking the whole while. Ever since his record had "disappeared", the electronic files by computer virus and the hard copies in a very convenient theft, there wasn't much they could do about it, either, unless they caught him in the act. 

...but Barry still thought Snart was still pretty cool. No pun intended. After all, not many cities could boast about having their very own supervillain protecting them.

(Starling was up in the air with that vigilante of theirs, but as far as anyone could tell, he still classified himself as a super _hero_.)

The floorboard outside the crime lab creaks and both Julian and Barry's heads snap up to stare at the door, just like they had the last three times some idiot had gone to get coffee.

There are voices just beyond the door. 

Barry recognizes Joe's voice.

"It's them!"

Of course, by the time Joe actually walks in, Julian is prissily adjusting his microscope as if Joe was interrupting "real work" and Barry's waiting by the door with an avid look, but that's just a difference in personalities. 

But also how Barry gets all the really cool non-meta cases, so _there_.

"How the heck do you always know we're coming?" Joe asks, blinking at Barry.

"Well, we _are_ a crime lab," Barry elides the truth gleefully. "Now what have you got? Do we have something?"

Joe's quiet for a long moment, frowning, and it's just long enough for Barry's shoulders to slump, when abruptly Joe beams and says, "Oh, we've got something all right."

"Yes!" Barry cries out, punching the air. "Tell me everything."

"Well, the good news, you guys were right: it looks more and more likely that our Heatwave is using a high-tech gun of some variety, and that he obtained it via a theft from one of Central's labs."

"I knew it," Barry crows.

"What's the bad news?" Julian asks.

"Well, the bad news is, we've got a hell of a lot of suspects," Joe says. "Looks like it wasn't one lab that was working on variable-heat weaponry. It was _three_ of them."

"That's - highly unusual," Julian says with a frown. "A weapon capable of reaching the extraordinary heat capabilities we've seen from Heatwave is - well. Extraordinary. Why would three different labs be working on it at once?"

"No mystery at all," Barry says, rich in the knowledge of someone whose mother had been a chemistry professor at Central University. "There was a grant, wasn't there?"

Joe points at Barry. "Right on the nose. All three labs saw a listing for a _very_ generous grant request for proposals aimed at developing heat-based technology and each of them separately started working on their proposals and basic prototypes in order to win that grant."

"But surely we can narrow it down by which ones experienced a recent theft?" Julian asks. "Unless - but surely not! _All_ of them?"

"You guys get better at this every time I walk in here," Joe mutters. "It's freaky. But yes: all three of them experienced thefts."

"And none of them reported it?"

"They wanted that grant," Barry says with a shrug. "If it was generous as all that. Plus, a reputation for being insecure would be a killer for _all_ their grants, especially if they work with military contracts."

"As all of these three do," Joe says. "That's why it's the bad news - we've got to track down three leads instead of one."

"Four," Barry corrects.

"Four?"

"Well, yeah," Barry says. "The grant that got them all working on it at the same time. Where'd it come from? Was it government? Military?"

"Private foundation," Joe says, starting to nod. "Affiliated with the military, apparently, but not military directly."

"That's even more suspicious," Julian says. "Government or military grants we could trace the decision making process backwards - well, as far as national security would let us - but a _private_ foundation..."

"We should check with the military anyway," Barry says. "See if they were shopping around for heat tech, or expressed an interest in it, or if this foundation came up with the idea all on their own."

"You think the foundation set the labs up?"

"Not necessarily," Julian says. "They could have been sincerely looking into the issue; it's not uncommon for private foundations to get 'ideas' that they think are valuable, particularly if they're tied up in the ego of a single individual."

"But it _does_ mean that the information about the tech could have been leaked by or to an employee of the foundation, rather than the labs," Barry says. "What foundation is it?"

"The Ramon Foundation."

"Not it," Julian immediately says, smirking at Barry, who had opened his mouth to do the same. 

"What's wrong with the Ramon Foundation?" Joe asks.

"Nothing," Barry says. 

"Except for its owner," Julian says.

"Cisco Ramon?" Joe says doubtfully. "Isn't he the young guy, the metahuman expert? Didn't he make millions on some app or something?"

"That's the one."

"I hadn't heard of him being involved with anything bad," Joe says with a frown. "Is there something we ought to know?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Barry says quickly.

"At least that we've yet proven," Julian mutters.

"It's just, the last few times we've gone over there -"

"Mr. Ramon has been a perfect combination of overly solicitous and utterly unhelpful," Julian says with distaste. "Any assistance with metahumans - anything at all - he's more than happy to offer, even if he's not involved. At all. Or _wanted_ , for that matter. But when it comes to actually showing us his lab or any of his employees, he abruptly becomes utterly unable to assist."

"And he can be kind of a jackass," Barry says apologetically.

"Oh," Joe says, good humor restored. " _That_ sort of 'not it'."

"I bet he's involved with Snart," Julian grumbles.

Barry ignores him, since _he's_ the one who will have to go talk to the guy. "It's a Heatwave case," he reminds Julian. "We can get a warrant. Everyone wants this guy off the streets."

"Nearly everybody."

"...nearly everybody."

It didn't help that Heatwave almost invariably targeted guys that turned out to have some seriously shady backgrounds, which then got publicized on the news. The media was having a field day - the public was scandalized by the gruesome burning of the victims and the obvious serial-killer nature of the deaths, but thrilled by the fact that someone was, to quote a recent article, "putting the fear of God into the scum of Central City." That being said, Heatwave didn't _seem_ to be a vigilante along the same lines as Starling City, though perhaps Barry should keep an open mind - by all accounts, _that_ guy had started off murdering people in a very specific fashion as well...

"What labs were involved?" Julian asks, focusing back on business. "We'll probably need to further examine their facilities, their employees, what plans were stolen, what security they have -"

"The works," Barry says, before Julian lists _everything_ that the CCPD would have to do, even besides the crime lab. Normally a lot of that stuff wasn't CSI work, but when it came to high-tech or scientific crimes like this, the CSI lab crew regularly got drafted to help the detectives make sure they didn't miss anything.

"Mercury Labs, STAR Labs, and the local laboratory offshoot of Palmer Tech," Joe reports.

"We're on it," Barry says.

“Barry, are you sure…” Joe starts.

“This is _my case_ ,” Barry emphasizes. “Joe, by god, if you take me off this out of sheer paranoia, I will sulk in your general direction for weeks.”

“Strong words,” Julian interjects, rolling his eyes.

Barry glares death and highly juvenile retaliatory pranks at him.

“…but I must admit that Allen was the origin of the suggestion that got us to this point,” Julian grudgingly adds. Barry is the undisputed master of petty and even Julian knows to fear him. “It would be a loss to the case – though not to me personally, might I add – if he were removed at this point on such uncertain grounds.”

“Fine, fine,” Joe says. “But if anything happens –”

“You’ll be the first to know if I even smell smoke,” Barry promises.

“Outside the vicinity of the break room microwave, of course,” Julian says snidely.

“Hey, that thing’s been on the fritz forever!”

“It has,” Joe says. “That’s why we gave it to you when the department got a new one.”

They both glare at him as he laughs and heads out with a wave.

Then they look at each other.

“I’ll take STAR Labs –” Julian starts.

“Hey, you’re making me take _Ramon_. _I_ get STAR Labs.”

“…point taken. Very well, I’ll take Mercury Labs.”

“You want analysis of all the stuff they brought back or Palmer Tech?”

Julian makes a face. “Analysis, if you please. The less in-person investigation I have to do, the better.”

“Other than STAR Labs.”

Julian shrugs. Harrison Wells still had a lot of star power, even after the accelerator explosion. 

And _Barry_ was going to get to go meet with him!

…with a bunch of detectives. Right after a theft they didn’t want to disclose was discovered. While searching for signs of a serial killer among his staff.

Great.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm starting to think you're cheating on me with another pizza place, you call so late," Mick chuckles. 

Barry smiles, phone tucked into the crook of his neck. "My job keeps me busy," he replies. "I wasn't sure you'd still be open."

"For you, I stay open."

Barry snickers. "Send me something I'd like, then," he says, suddenly feeling spontaneous.

"Not the usual?"

"Nah. I trust you."

"You're a trusting type of guy - and also a jerk, since you've given me no time to prep anything."

"Sorry," Barry laughs. "I promise to order the same tomorrow, how's that? Tonight just get me something fast."

"I'm holding you to that. Delivery'll be in twenty."

"You're the best. No desserts this time!"

"You're too skinny."

"You've never even met me!"

"You _sound_ too skinny. Are you telling me you're not skinny?"

"Well, no," Barry concedes. He's not underweight, but he is, admittedly, a little skinny. "I just wouldn't say _too_ skinny..."

"I bet," Mick says smugly. "Dessert tomorrow, then."

"Something with fruit involved, at least?"

"Can do."

"Thanks, Mick," Barry says, then hesitates. On one hand, he doesn't want to make this weird. On the other, he's been thinking it for a while. Might as well. "Is it sad that talking to you is a highlight of my day?"

"Not any sadder than the fact that talking to you's a highlight of mine," Mick replies immediately. "We're both very sad; just accept it."

Barry smiles. Mick's the best. "Good to hear. I'd better hang up - I'm going to eat then go straight to sleep, since I've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, interviews. We're following up on some things with some of the big labs in the city: Palmer Tech in the morning, then STAR Labs in the afternoon. Ramon Foundation tomorrow unless something comes up. Can't give you details, of course..."

"Of course. Have fun on your busy day, Barry."

Barry really likes hearing Mick say his name.

The food that shows up ends up not even being pizza, which Barry fully expected, but a medium-cooked ribeye with béarnaise sauce and some asparagus. One of the stalks looks like it's been nibbled on, like Mick grabbed the steak off of someone else's plate, but that's silly. Barry's sure Mick just grabbed whatever was available.

Honestly, he hadn't even remembered that this place _did_ non-pizza stuff. They must have transitioned over to regular Italian as well.

It's delicious, as usual, which he reports to Mick with a smile (he vaguely thinks he hears someone yowling about having their plate stolen out from under them because someone can't man up about their goddamn crush, but Mick assures him it’s just the radio), and he sleeps well but still manages to wake up to his fourth alarm, so he even makes it to the front door of Palmer Tech on time. 

Barry's not sure how he feels about Palmer Tech. The guy in charge of it - Raymond Palmer - was a player in Starling City politics and business for a while, which made everyone wonder why he was opening a branch in Central. The more generous said it was a natural expansion, taking advantage of the generous state interest in funding laboratories and scientific development generally; the less generous whispered about the corruption of the business class in Starling - that awful earthquake - and the slender gap left in the Families' supply of good money laundering operations after Snart had started his little meta crusade against them.

From what Barry's seen of his interviews, Ray Palmer seems like a pretty decent, upstanding guy, but Barry's more cynical side points out that the guy thinks of himself as an inventor - even humanitarian - first, businessman second, and that doesn't tally with his business' recent ruthless rise in market share, so either Ray Palmer has a hidden cold streak or he's got a second in command that's the real head of the business, someone with a real killer instinct.

"Barry, you're on time," Joe says, smile firmly affixed onto his face and on Eddie's. "Great. We're just waiting to see Mr. Palmer himself."

"What, _personally_?" Barry asks, frowning. "He's coming all the way from Starling?"

"Already arrived. Be nice, okay? We'll talk with him a few minutes and move on to the serious questions once he's assured us he had no idea what was going on, there'll be serious inquiries, the usual crap."

"Got it," Barry says. "Morning, Eddie."

"Good morning," Eddie says, looking tired. Then again, he recently got moved high enough up that he gave the media announcement this morning - the regular update on the Heatwave case, i.e. “Nothing yet but we’re working on it” - and he looks like he's been savaged by a bunch of media wildcats. But Iris’ boyfriend still has time to smile warmly at Barry, because he's always been incredibly sympathetic to Barry's plight (once Barry indicated he was getting over it and after one punch-in-the-face incident which Barry _totally_ gets).

Just at that minute, Ray Palmer himself, recognizable from the fact that he's as tall as Barry and from the broad white-toothed smile you could see on all the advertisements, comes through the door, flanked by two blonde women. 

"Detectives West, Thawne," he says, hand outstretched, seeming actually pleased to see them, not like he's secretly annoyed by these people trampling all over his lab at all. "I heard you'd called. And this is..?"

"CSI Barry Allen," Barry says, shaking Palmer's hand. "I'm accompanying the detectives today."

Palmer brightens like Barry said something incredibly interesting. "Wow, it's really great to meet you!" 

"...really?"

"He watches too many police procedurals," one of the blonde women cuts in smoothly. Her smile is just a bit wicked. "Welcome, all three of you."

"This is Sara Lance," Palmer says. "She's my VP of Operations. And this is Felicity Smoak; she runs our R&D/Tech side."

"You didn't have to bring all the big brass, Mr. Palmer," Joe says. "We told you, we're just following up on the theft that you experienced a few months back."

"Naturally," Palmer says. "And please, call me Ray! I just wanted you to know how seriously we've been taking this issue. Sara and I will be taking you on the tour ourselves."

Everyone's smile gets a little more fixed onto their faces, because that's...great. If by great you mean _absolutely awful_. It's a careful balance in Central City between investigating with the full power of the city and state behind you, and not pissing off the politicians who count on the political donations and economic stimulus that rich people like Palmer brought with them when they expanded into Central.

Palmer was the politician's second favorite type of rich guy: spends a lot of money in Central building his business, but mostly concerned about politics in Starling and therefore no threat to their positions.

(Their first favorite type of rich guy being the kind that is willing to give them personally a lot of money.)

"We're delighted to have you as guides," Eddie says, even managing to sound partially sincere. "Thank you for taking the time. Ms. Smoak, you won't be joining us?"

"No, I just came here to see - uh, the investigation. How the investigation was. Was going! I'm R&D, you know, so I care a lot about theft. I mean, about investigations! Investigations _into_ theft. Also in general. " She covers her flushing cheeks and closes her eyes. "Please pretend that made sense."

"Perfect sense," Barry assures her. "I do it all the time."

She opens her eyes and grins at him. "You're nice!" she exclaims, sounding a bit surprised. "I wouldn't have thought."

"The cops aren't all bad," Barry says, suppressing a smile. "Don't believe everything you see on TV."

“I’m glad we got the nice cops,” Felicity says, grinning at him.

“You have the luck of coming first in the alphabet,” Barry says, giving up and returning her smile. “So you get to go before STAR Labs this afternoon.”

This was true except for the Ramon Foundation, which started in the phone book somewhere after ZZ. 

“Thank you, alphabet,” Felicity says with a laugh.

"We’re very thankful indeed," the other woman - Sara Lance, Ray had called her - cuts in smoothly. "Shall we begin our tour?"

Barry can feel the exchange of glances behind his back at the neat, careful people management, and he concurs entirely. Sara's too young to be behind Palmer Tech’s initial rise to prominence, which was mostly based on the sheer creativity of Ray Palmer’s inventions, but Barry would bet dollars to donuts that they've just met the brain behind its recent cutthroat expansionism.

Despite their initial fears, Ray actually proves to know something about the tech side of his business and is able to answer questions, rather than regurgitating a set of talking points crafted by a set of lawyers in a dark room somewhere. 

"This is our Dynamite lab," he says. "That's a little joke, you see -"

"Thermodynamics," Barry says with a grin. "That's funny."

"You sure you want to keep up with this CSI stuff?" Ray asks. "We're always looking for good science people."

"And I haven't even pulled out my mad skillz yet," Barry says.

"No one says that anymore," Sara says, looking amused. "Assuming they said it, ever."

"It's definitely a first for a _police investigation_ ," Joe says pointedly.

Barry zips it. 

Well, he tries. Ray's actually really nice - sure, he gets distracted sometimes and goes on tangents involving the possible uses of a dwarf star alloy, but that's super interesting to Barry's mind. 

Just - maybe not that relevant to the investigation.

"So where _exactly_ did you say the - ah - 'heat gun alloy' was?" Joe finally says.

"Over here," Ray says, gesturing at a set of shelves.

"You just let it sit out there?" Eddie says, frowning. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It was only a model," Ray says. "We had eventually intended to make it into a gun, but we hadn't gotten anywhere near that point yet. Honestly, it was really just a lump of metal and some plans to show how it could be shaped to deal with the heat. The design of the alloy was meant to let it go up to as close as humanity has yet reached to absolute hot - which is to say, very, very hot - in a logistical manner, assuming you could fashion some source of energy that could get you the power you'd need to get there. The designs were suggestions on how to strengthen the metal so that it wouldn't melt by itself."

"That’s why the dwarf star alloys!" Barry exclaims. "If you make metal in part out of stuff that's been exposed to stars -"

"There's nothing on earth that should be able to melt it," Ray says, beaming. "Exactly! Are you sure I can't offer you a job?"

"Quite sure," Barry laughs. "But thanks for the offer. Can I examine the area?"

"You're welcome to, but it's been cleaned. And, well, a lab..."

"Industrial strength cleaner," Barry says, nodding. He's not going to find anything. But he'll look.

"While Mr. Allen does that, can you take us to your security system?" Eddie asks. "We'd like to look at the logs of who might have been able to access the alloy over the last few months."

"Sure," Ray says, though he looks longingly over to where Barry is unpacking his kit. "Follow me."

Barry's working by himself when there's a noise from outside. A crash, then barely audible cursing.

It's totally none of Barry's business.

Besides, it's a lab. If he wants to look out a window, he'd have to stand on a table, and that would be _super_ unprofessional.

Naturally, Barry finds himself on his tip-toes on one of the sturdier-looking tables in under a minute.

He'd get down and scrub it off before anyone notices.

There's a guy in the alley outside, big guy, bald, shoulders round with muscle that's apparent under his cloth jacket even from Barry's vantage point. He looks pretty hot, though Barry can't see his face.

He's talking to Felicity Smoak, who seems to have knocked over a trash can and is waving her hands emphatically and bouncing a little on her toes in excitement. 

Maybe he's an employee?

But if that's the case, why are they talking in an alleyway instead of indoors? He wouldn't have pegged Felicity as a smoker.

Huh. Weird.

There's a noise from the door and Barry has to scramble to get down from his perch in time to play it casual by the right table. 

The table _next_ to the right table. Damnit!

"Oh, good, you're done," Ray says, beaming as he sweeps into the room, luckily not noticing Barry’s unusual placement. Joe looks tired of Ray's sunny optimism already and Eddie's got his thinking face firmly fixed on. "Any chance I can take you all out to eat? I know a great Italian place..."

"Sorry," Joe says, only barely managing sincere. "We can't be seen to be influenced by someone even peripherally involved in an investigation."

"Well, maybe when your investigation is done, then," Ray says.

"We'll review department policy," Joe says, meaning hell no.

Ray and Sara then proceed to bustle them out in a haze of overwhelming good cheer that explains why Joe is looking like he's on the verge of murder. There's nothing like someone being aggressively, cheerfully unhelpful when you've running on three cups of coffee and no sleep. 

Felicity's in the lobby, waving goodbye, and as Barry passes her, he notices the faintest smell of smoke lingering on her clothing.

Guess she is a smoker after all.

Though, that mention of Italian has him craving dinner...


	4. Chapter 4

"No surprise, absolutely nothing from Palmer Tech other than the small sample of the alloy he gave us," Barry tells Joe. "Industrial strength cleaner is a thing to be feared by us all."

Joe nods, looking unsurprised. He knows the drill. "So, nothing then?"

"Well," Barry says reluctantly. "There is one thing." 

Ray was super nice, and Barry can't possibly imagine what he might have to do with a serial killer or whatever weird thing is going on here in regards to these thefts, but he feels he has to mention any oddities. It's his job. Joe's job is figuring out how all those oddities came together in a way that made sense. 

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Barry says. "I found absolutely nothing."

"You just said that," Joe points out.

"No," Barry says patiently. " _Absolutely_ nothing."

Joe pauses. "I thought you said that was because of the cleaner?"

"It is," Barry says. "But there's finding nothing relevant or useful, and then there's finding nothing at _all_."

"Wait, you found nothing at _all_?" Julian says, looking up from where he's sitting on his side of the room. "In a working lab? During mid-morning? Impossible."

Barry points at him. "Exactly. I mean, unless the lab was scrubbed shortly before we arrived. Which, uh, they would probably have had time to do, if they wanted to."

Joe frowns. "You think they were hiding something?"

"I mean, yes and no?" Barry replies, shrugging helplessly when Joe glares at him. "Okay, let me rephrase. Yes, I think they were hiding something. No, I don't think it's really relevant. I mean, I don't _really_ think they were hiding Heatwave in the alleyway out back or anything like _that_. It's probably nothing more than some run-of-the-mill labwork paranoia that someone's going to steal their work, or maybe some scientists they hired have a bad history with law enforcement, or something like that." He pauses. "Or, well, this _is_ Central..." 

He arches his eyebrows meaningfully. Joe nods thoughtfully.

"What does that mean?" Julian asks with a frown. He's good at his job, but he's not from Central; he hates it when everyone else just makes a reference to the city and share knowing nods like Barry and Joe were just doing.

Naturally, Barry makes a point of doing it as often as possible.

"Something they're working on for a Family," Joe clarifies. "Labs can process everything from drugs to explosives, and it's an open secret that running any type of successful business in Central - at least, running that business long enough that you want to _keep_ it being successful - involves having an open mind in regards to the Families, if you get me."

"Though drugs have gone down since Snart came around," Barry comments, then flinches back when Julian and Joe both glare. "What? It's true! Palmer Tech could have a deal with the Rogues instead of a regular Family."

"I don't want to know what a guy who made himself the leader of a metahuman army wants with a lab, Bear, I really don't," Joe says.

"More parts for that cold gun of his, no doubt," Julian says.

"But the labs weren't working on cold, they were working on heat," Barry points out.

"Still, it's temperature related. Maybe Snart is thinking of switching it up."

"Seems like a stretch," Joe says doubtfully. "That bastard's pretty committed to his theme. Just last week he had snowflake-decorated hoodies delivered to the local children's hospital with a note saying 'when life's getting you hot under the collar, think Cold thoughts' - hoodies he _stole_ , might I add, not that there's a public company in the world that's going to publically take clothing away from kids with cancer..."

Julian snorts. "What is he, running for mayor?" he says with a sneer. 

"Don't ask me to understand Snart," Joe says. "If I were any good at it, he'd be in prison."

"Did Eddie find something in the logs?" Barry asks, thinking back. "He had his thinking-face on."

"He thought he did," Joe says. "Went down to records to check it out."

"What's left of records, you mean," Julian says. 

To be fair, there wasn't much left after Snart's midnight raid. Of course, they couldn't _prove_ it was Snart's doing, certainly without the relevant records, but the tell-tale thin layer of frost left behind made it pretty clear. Not that the policemen who'd first found it had thought to take a picture of it before it melted away...

The simultaneous electronic attack that ate away a big chunk of their electronic files and back-ups only made it more likely that it was Snart. He wasn't necessarily known for hacking, but simultaneous attacks utilizing all the skills of his subordinates were just his style.

Everyone just quietly hoped that it'd been a one-time job and Snart hadn't actually acquired a high-class hacker willing to join his Rogues.

"Well, hope Eddie's hunch gets us somewhere," Barry says. "Palmer Tech seems like a dead end."

"Except for the fact that the CEO, the COO, and the Head of R&D all flew over from Starling to show us around in person," Joe says. "They're staying on the suspect list."

Barry wonders if he should mention that he saw Felicity outside during their investigation - but no. There's no law against taking a smoke break.

"Anything from Mercury?" Joe asks Julian.

"Ms. McGee was outraged we were trespassing, interfering with delicate projects, etc., etc.," Julian says with a shrug. “The usual. Actually, it turned out that her stolen project related to tachyons, not heat tech. Their heat tech is, according to them, still secure – they’re developing a heat-sensitive trigger, designed to activate alarms once a certain heat threshold has been passed.”

“Alarms,” Barry says, arching his eyebrows, “or a fuse?”

“Given the prevalence of the word ‘trigger’ being used and the dearth of any additional details,” Julian says dryly, “I suspect the answer will be whatever pays more.”

“Still, strange that they weren’t hit,” Barry says, then frowns. “Wait. Were the other places hit around the same time, or sequentially?”

“Sequentially,” Julian replies, nodding in understanding already. Sometimes Barry wishes the guy wasn’t so competent, just so he could hate on him properly, but sadly, even Barry had to admit that having another brain to bounce off of has made them both more productive.

“What are you thinking, Bear?” Joe asks.

“That Mercury might not have a heat-tech related theft _yet_ ,” Barry says, gnawing at his lower lip. “If this guy is going after heat tech and given our suspicions that the leak might have come from Ramon’s Foundation – well, they just sent in a proposal, right? The guy might not know that it’s just a trigger system.”

“I’ll post some guards and tell them to keep an eye out,” Joe says. “If we can catch this guy breaking in on camera, that might be the key to catching him.”

Joe still lingers by the door a minute.

“Anything else, Joe?”

“Just – you’re going to this Ramon guy, right? The one we think the leak might've come from?”

“Tomorrow, yeah; after I finish up with whatever I get from STAR Labs this afternoon, yeah, with Ramirez and Stubbins,” Barry says, smirking at Julian’s quickly suppressed jealous expression at the mention of STAR Labs. “Why?”

“Be careful,” Joe says. “I’ve been asking around. No one’s said anything yet, but – well, Ramon _is_ a non-police affiliated meta expert. And the biggest customer for that would be…”

“Snart,” Julian says. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Not least because Ramon wouldn’t be able to get easy access to test subjects without an illicit source, and his papers are –”

“Really good,” Barry interjects.

Julian looks sour. “Yes, unfortunately. The Foundation's _very_ good. Though personally I think his associate, Ms. Snow, likely has more to do with it..."

"Julian's got a crush," Barry says wickedly.

"I most certainly do _not_!"

"On her excellent biomedical analysis of metahuman physiology, honestly, Julian, get your mind out of the gutter."

Julian glares, but there’s a bit of a blush on his cheeks.

Joe chuckles. "I'll leave you two to it. But seriously, Bear - be careful, okay? I’d rather Eddie and I went with you to Ramon tomorrow, but chance are we’ll be booked solid fielding calls about our investigations today."

"Relax," Barry says. "Heatwave's not after me, okay? It was coincidence. Now shoo, I need to pack up and freak out about going to STAR Labs before meeting you downstairs."

"I don't understand what you all see in Wells," Joe complains half-heartedly; it's an old argument. "He _did_ cause the current metahuman crisis, you all remember that, right?"

"It's not technically a metahuman crisis," Julian says immediately. "It's just regular crime, as done by metahumans."

Julian had had a serious grudge against metahumans early on in his career, but after he'd nearly shot a kid pretending to be one, he'd gotten some serious therapy and sensitivity training. 

"Plus, Heatwave's not a meta, remember?" Barry reminds Joe. "Can't say that one's a meta issue."

"Not that certain newspapers haven't _tried_."

"Man, am I glad Iris took the job with Picture News," Barry says. "Even if that tabloid probably would've paid better."

Joe glares the way he always does when someone brings up Iris, but Barry's working on wearing him down. It might take forever, but eventually he'll get used to hearing her name and maybe - just maybe - they'll be able to work their way to an apology.

Maybe.

Preferably _without_ Barry screwing up in such a massive fashion that both of them have to forgive him because he's family, and then forgiving each other because they don't want to be hypocrites.

You know, like the last four times.

He's just about done getting his stuff ready when his phone beeps. Wondering who it might be, Barry scoops it up.

 _Making you something special for dinner_ , it read. _No cheating._

Barry grins. He'd given Mick his cell number a while back, when he'd tried to order dinner on his commute home in hope that it'd arrive after he did (it arrived before, thus Mick's demand for a mobile number), but this is the first time Mick's just texted him out of the blue.

Even though his number's already saved as "M" in Barry’s phone.

Barry has a rich fantasy life, okay? And if someone - Iris - were to grab his phone now, she'd get the totally wrong impression.

Barry depresses himself for a few minutes, thinking about how he'd lure her into snatching the phone then tease her mercilessly about her misconception, if only they were still talking, but then he puts it out of his mind and focuses on the dinner Mick's undoubtedly making for him. Possibly personally.

Barry's imagination has decided to give Mick the shoulders from the guy he'd seen this morning, the hot one talking to Felicity in the alley, and for some reason he's decided to cook Barry's dinner shirtless. Mmmm, yes, _please_. 

...make that a _very_ rich fantasy life.

Barry sends an estimate of when he expects to be at home - around eight, barring surprises - and heads off to meet Joe and Eddie for their trip to STAR Labs.

STAR Labs is just as impressive as always: a giant, round tower, looming over mostly empty parking lots that circle it like a moat. 

More impressive is what's inside.

Harrison Wells had initially gone into hiding after the explosion that created the metahumans, but he had reemerged with a fresh sense of determination and a hundred new ideas, and he was slowly building his reputation back up, one small piece at a time.

He sometimes said, in interviews, that science had gotten him into the situation he was in now and so science was the only hope he had left to get back out. 

Of course, all the tabloid columns were more interested in what, exactly, had caused the final split between Harrison Wells and his former protégés, Cisco Ramon and Caitlin Snow, who had been among the only people to stand by him after the accelerator explosion. And then, a year or so later, they abruptly left him, both of them: Snow to return to medicine, Ramon to start the Ramon Foundation. 

After the Foundation struck gold with a number of apps and assistive technology, not to mention a number of anti-metahuman defenses, Snow had left her budding ophthalmology practice and returned to Cisco's side. More intriguingly, they had been joined by Hartley Rathaway, another ex-protégé of Wells, and one whose parting of ways had _definitely_ been on bad terms.

Yet no matter how anyone pressed, and no matter how upset the leading members of the Foundation became when Wells was discussed, they never said a word against him. A number of gossip columns - not that Barry read those, well, not too much - suggested that Wells still had some form of blackmail over Ramon, something to do with some technology he had developed while he was still with Wells.

Barry might be a little star-struck by Harrison Wells' marvelous brain, but he's not going to let down his guard. His dad had always said that if a teacher keeps chewing up and spitting out students, the problem's with the teacher.

He hadn't been able to see his dad in a while. Henry Allen had been hit by the accelerator explosion when he’d been given that day pass to visit Barry to watch the grand opening, resulting in a nine-month coma and speed meta powers, both of which had definitely taken a few years off Barry’s life, but he steadfastly refused to use those powers to escape prison, which didn't always make him too popular with the other inmates. That meant more solitary, which meant fewer visiting hours.

Barry missed him.

It’d be nice to have someone in his life that he could talk to about stupid things, like fanboying over Harrison Wells. 

Huh, maybe he could talk about it with Mick over dinner. It wasn’t like it was police work or anything.

"Gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting," the man himself said.

Barry jumps a little, not having seen him lurking in the shadows in his wheelchair. Though in fairness, Barry was also hanging back a bit. 

He turns to look, and - oh, wow, it's really him. 

_Harrison Wells_. He looks just as distinguished as on television - though he also looks just as gray and worn out as he did on television, too, which was presumably why the gossip mags had a field day proposing that he had any number of mysterious illnesses potentially caused by playing with dark matter.

"Not a problem," Joe says. "I'm Detective West; we spoke on the phone. We're sorry to take time out of your undoubtedly busy day."

Barry very carefully did not look around the virtually deserted labs. 

"Not at all," Wells said. "You're here to investigate the theft of the thermal core?"

"Thermal core?"

"Yes," Wells says. "I've been working on developing energy sources - smaller, more efficient. Someone took a prototype and hid it somewhere."

"How do you know that they hid it?" Eddie asks.

"I went to look for it, obviously!" Wells snaps.

"And you weren't in the lab that night?" 

"No," Wells says, regaining his composure by a visible effort. "I'm sorry, Detective...?"

"Thawne."

Wells' hands clench on his wheelchair. "I see. Yes. Of course. Welcome."

"And this is our colleague, CSI Barry Allen," Eddie adds. “He’ll be assisting us today.”

Wells' reaction is - well, Barry's going to have to go with _weird_.

He twists to look at Barry, and he's almost - hungry. But also like Barry's disappointed him, somehow, like Barry's a very close but not quite right reminder of someone he wanted to see. 

Also, is it just Barry, or is his hair going blond at the roots and the tips? Like, not white or grey, but _blond_?

Weird.

Barry'd say that Wells must think that brunettes have more fun and forgot to dye his hair recently enough, but it doesn't explain the slight blond at the tips. Whatever, Barry's not here for hair styling advice.

"Mr. Allen," Wells says. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"I wasn't aware it was such an honor," Barry says, aiming for light-hearted as he shakes Wells' hand. He's mostly kind of creeped. "It's an honor to meet you. Sorry for imposing on you like this."

Wells' smile is tight-lipped. 

"Not at all," he says. "I'll show you where the lab is."

The lab is stupendous, but Barry's got this weird feeling, like it was almost meant for something else before it got transformed into what it is now. There's a surprising amount of tech that he can identify as medical; he doesn't know what a physics lab would need with that. At least the speed measurement stuff makes some sense. 

Wells goes away for a few minute, some excuse about putting something in order, and comes back refreshed, almost perky; he's charming and urbane, chatting lightly with them as they search his lab. 

Barry doesn’t glance at Joe or Eddie, but he assumes they’re thinking the same thing ( _drugs_ ) as he is. Possibly prescription, possibly not, but man, what a difference. The Harrison Wells that left them was erratic, irritable, eccentric; the one who returns is the one that made himself famous enough to sweet-talk the city into building his Particle Accelerator. 

Charming enough to almost (almost) make them forget how weird his introduction was. 

Amazingly enough, Wells seems to enjoy talking with Barry. He’s interested in Barry’s work, his projects, everything; he seems to think Barry’s got great potential, which, uh, Barry’s going to have to find a way to include in his official write-up because _holy crap Harrison Wells thinks he has great potential_ and everyone, ever, needs to know about it. 

Joe and Eddie don’t seem particularly happy about it, but whatever.

It’s probably just because they’re not finding anything useful. 

“Perhaps you can stay behind, Mr. Allen,” Wells says with a smile. “I’d love to discuss your theories in further depth –”

“I’m afraid since this is an open investigation, it wouldn’t be appropriate for Mr. Allen to socialize,” Joe cuts in.

Barry gives him an injured look. Does he not realize this is _Harrison Wells_?

“There would be nothing inappropriate about it, I assure you,” Wells says smoothly. “Merely an academic discussion of mutual interests, which I believe is entirely permissible, even in an open investigation. After all, I’m not a suspect, am I?”

“Of course not, Mr. Wells,” Barry says, reaching for his phone in order to text Joe to shut up. “I’m sure that –”

His phone.

_No cheating._

“– we’ll be able to catch up another time,” Barry finishes with a sigh. Damnit. 

If it wasn’t the very first time Mick had texted him, he might have opted to cancel, but Barry’s lost too many friendships to his inability to schedule his life properly, and he’s not losing this one. 

Wells looks disappointed. “Another time, then,” he says. Then he smiles. "We'll have to make sure of it."


End file.
